


Forgery

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Genderswap, M/M, One Shot, Pussy Manifesto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cobb wants Arthur to learn to forge. He only ever masters one identity, but Eames is a very thorough teacher. (The 'Pussy Manifesto' fic from the Escapade 21 panel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgery

**Author's Note:**

> For haitchem, for finding this pic (http://kahtyasofia.dreamwidth.org/193694.html) for me, when I went in search of _that_ tattoo.
> 
> As always, thank you to flying_fox for her help with British slang and pet names.

 “You want me to what?” Arthur stared incredulously at Cobb. His pulse kicked up a notch as both annoyance and dread warred inside of him.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Eames exclaimed from beside him.

“I want you to learn to forge,” Cobb repeated, as if his audience hadn’t reacted negatively to his first announcement.

“I already have a specialty,” Arthur said, regaining his composure.

“Forging is a very rare skill,” Cobb replied. Arthur could tell he was employing his considerable skills of persuasion. “Good forgers are an even rarer commodity. You’re brilliant, Arthur. You adapt and improvise well. You’re already a keen observer of people and used to researching everything there is to know about an individual. Learning to forge is a logical next step for you. Why not learn from the best?”

“While the flattery is greatly appreciated,” Eames interjected. “Forging takes a great deal of imagination. And, as I’ve said before, Arthur is quite lacking in imagination.”

Arthur knew better than to let Eames get to him, but bristled at the insult anyway.

“You might be surprised Eames,” Cobb said. “He figured out how to drop us without gravity.”

Eames appeared to consider the suggestion.

“No.” Arthur had to stop this in its tracks. “If I were to even consider doing this, I’d need to learn from someone else.”

“Oh, now you’re just being mean, love.” Eames’ smile was feral.

Arthur ignored the wave of warmth that curled into his belly.

“Just give it a try,” Cobb cajoled. “Just some basic tasks, to see if you have what it takes. If it’s something you might be able to do, and you just can’t seem to work with Eames, we can bring in someone else.”

Arthur looked over at Eames and found himself being watched. The look in Eames’ eyes was nothing short of a dare.

“Fine,” Arthur said sharply, never one to back down from a challenge. Or a dare.

Or Eames, for that matter.

~*~

Arthur was seated with Eames at the Starbucks on the corner of Olympic and Sawtelle, in West Los Angeles.

“Why are we here, again?” Arthur asked, not bothering to hide his impatience.

“Observation,” Eames replied, nonplussed. “Watch how the people move. Watch for the smallest unique mannerism. If you spot someone who attracts you, that you think you can mimic, we’ll go on a little reconnaissance mission.”

“Why here?”

“This is the closest Starbucks to that solicitor’s office.” Eames gestured toward a tall building an easy walking distance down Olympic.

“Manatt, Phelps and Phillips?”

“Solicitors to the stars, darling.” Eames smiled and Arthur’s stomach dipped. “This street corner is a fantastic place to see lawyers, legal assistants, mail room clerks, and celebrities. You like celebrities, yeah? You Yanks and your cult of celebrity.”

“I’m not going to try to forge someone famous, am I?” Arthur couldn’t hide his anxiety.

“No. But spotting them can be quite good fun.”

Arthur didn’t think that would be the case. “So, when I see someone I think I’d like to forge, what do I do?”

“We’ll come to that when the time is right. In the meantime, let’s go over some of the finer points of forging.”

“Such as?”

“Research. Now, you’re already good at that.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“Seriously. There are two main types of forgery; those where only the most basic of physical resemblance is required, and those where you must inhabit the character so thoroughly, or risk alerting the mark to the dream state.”

“The blond and Browning,” Arthur offered.

“Precisely.” Eames seemed delighted with Arthur’s answer.

A fact which delighted Arthur. He was pissed at himself for being happy that he’d pleased Eames.

“For the first type, you need to replicate physical features and the most basic of mannerisms. For the second, you need the level of research you’re already used to doing. In addition, it requires hours and hours of observation, followed by practice.”

Arthur was about to ask a question when his attention was arrested by an attractive woman entering the Starbucks.

“Found one you fancy, have you?” Eames asked, smiling slyly.

It took several heartbeats for Arthur to grasp what Eames meant. “What? No. She’s a woman.”

“Bollocks. You know full well that doesn’t matter.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to try a man the first time? Something I’m already familiar with?”

“Actually, keeping too close to the familiar can make you lazy or inattentive to details.” Eames paused as the woman exited the shop, coffee cup in her hand. “She walked here, so we have an opportunity to observe her if we follow her back.”

Arthur had to scramble to catch up to Eames as he joined the woman and the crowd in crossing the street. It was then he realized they blended in with the professional crowd. Arthur wore an olive colored suit and pale blue shirt. Eames looked striking in his gray suit with black shirt and tie.

“Hang back, don’t make it obvious,” Eames cautioned in a low voice. “Watch how she moves her head so that her dark hair swings around her shoulders. She’s a confident one, see how she walks with her shoulders back? She’s tall, so her stride is long and fast, even in those divine high-heeled boots. But, it’s the hips. The hips are the key to a woman’s walk.”

Arthur focused on the woman’s heart-shaped ass. He admired the sway he, and most men, were so fond of.

“A woman’s pelvis is assembled differently from a man’s,” Eames mused. “It’s all about childbirth, that is. Still, it gives them that walk; that gentle swish and glide that is such a bitch for a man to try to replicate.”

They followed the woman into the law office building and onto the elevator. Arthur followed Eames’ lead in making small talk that might be heard in the elevator of a law firm that specialized in entertainment. By acting as though they belonged, they actually seemed to. All the while, Arthur watched the woman’s every movement.

When she turned into one of the offices, Eames and Arthur walked right by without glancing in.

“Annabeth Savage,” Eames breathed. “Your target. Now, do what you do so well, and find out everything there is to know about her. Then you put the two together, and you have your forgery.”

Together, they walked out of the building, hands in their trouser pockets, as casually as they’d walked in.

~*~

Eames pulled off the freeway, on the way back to the warehouse Cobb had set up for their use.

“Why are we stopping here?” Arthur was confused, as they pulled into the parking lot of a Barnes & Nobel.

“For you to begin your research, Arthur, my lad,” Eames replied expansively.

Arthur followed in bafflement. When Eames stopped in the erotica section, he was completely at a loss. “How is reading dirty books supposed to help me with my research?”

“Tell me, Arthur, do you have a vagina?” Eames asked, taking a book from a shelf and thumbing through it.

“No.” Arthur didn’t bother to mask his annoyance.

“So, you don’t know what it feels like to walk around with one, now, do you?” he returned the book to the shelf and selected another. “You have no idea what it’s like to always have to sit down to pee. Are you really such a clod that you would think that, what a woman feels while having her pussy licked, is the same as you do when having your cock sucked?”

Arthur fought the urge to blush at Eames’ crude words. He shifted his weight, hoping it hid the way his cock had twitched slightly.

Selecting a third book, Eames continued. “Women have the advantage, you realize? They know what we feel when we’re being fucked in the arse, but we have no way of ever really knowing how wonderful it feels to have a cock inside our vagina.”

Arthur took the book Eames handed him. His mouth hung open slightly and his fingers felt numb. Those lewd words, delivered in so elegant an accent, so smooth a voice, settled warmly in the pit of Arthur’s stomach.

“And this book will tell me all of that?” Arthur asked dubiously, eyeing the book’s cover art of high heels and lace-topped stockings.

“It’s a book of erotic stories, written by women.” Eames led the way to the cash registers. “Women telling of the things they enjoy, and what they feel while they’re experiencing them, is the closest you or I are ever going to come to true understanding.”

The closer they drew to the young, female cashier sporting several facial piercings, the more apprehensive Arthur grew. “Are we actually going to pay for this? You’re a thief, aren’t you? Can’t you just … steal it?”

“Of course I can. But it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as watching you squirm in embarrassment.”

~*~

Arthur did his homework on Annabeth Savage. Like most people, she lived her life completely on the grid. He was able to determine where her favorite places were for lunch, so he and Eames could arrange to observe her, unobtrusively. Credit card records gave a clear picture of where she shopped and the types of things she liked to buy.

Practice started easy enough. Eames made Arthur practice Annabeth’s walk and mannerisms outside of the dreamshare. Eames made him close his eyes and utilize the information he’d garnered through his research, to picture himself, as Annabeth, dressing himself as she would dress herself. Beginning with the undergarments.

Annabeth liked pretty things.

The first time Arthur tried it for real, Eames said it had to be his own dream. He wanted Arthur comfortable, amongst familiar surrounds, with no chance of hostile projections crashing the party.

Arthur designed a dream set in the finest suite in his favorite hotel. At Eames’ instruction, he added a tall, antique folding mirror. Arthur entered the dream, and the room, first, making sure it was to his liking.

A knock at the door heralded Eames’ arrival. Arthur’s heart hammered against his ribs. He wiped his palms on his thighs as he opened the door to let Eames in.

“You’ve excellent taste, Arthur,” he said, looking about the room as he removed his suit jacket. “I can’t say as I’d mind spending a long weekend at the real version of this hotel.”

At Eames’ words, Arthur realized that had been the vibe he’d been striving for. He just wished he’d been a little less obvious about it. “So, how do I do this?” he asked, seeking to focus Eames.

“First of all, relax,” Eames said, adjusting the panels of the mirror. “It’s best to let this happen organically, rather than trying to force it.”

Arthur allowed Eames to position him in front of the mirror. The side panels created infinite reflections of their profiles, but the front panel held only one image; Arthur standing tensely, Eames just over his right shoulder, hands gripping his shoulders.

“Close your eyes,” Eames whispered, his breath ghosting over the shell of Arthur’s ear. “Breathe in deeply, then out. That’s it. Just a few more times.”

Arthur struggled to suppress the shudder that threatened to roll through him in reaction to Eames’ closeness.

“Now, begin with something easy and obvious. Picture Annabeth’s hair, and feel it on your own head. Picture how it moves, remember the scent of her shampoo, where the strands strike against her shoulders. Feel it.”

Arthur imagined his own dark hair growing out until it fell past his shoulders, just like Annabeth’s.

“Excellent,” Eames purred. “Now remember the features of her face; her forehead, the line of her nose, the length of her chin, the high set of her cheekbones.”

As he talked, Eames grazed the tips of his fingers over Arthur’s face. It was a feather light touch but left Arthur feeling scalded.

“Her delicate neck, the line of her throat. The cut of her collarbones. Can you picture it all?” Eames asked, lips hovering just above Arthur’s ear.

“Yes,” Arthur answered, hoping the breathless sound of his voice would pass for concentration.

“Remember the clothing you decided she would wear,” Eames continued. “The style of her blouse and the color. Picture it on your body, only now your body is hers. Make your bone structure more fine, more delicate. Remember, she’s tall, she carries herself well. She’s _feminine_ , Arthur. That doesn’t mean she’s _weak_.”

Arthur began to feel as though his body was shifting, morphing, as it took on an entirely new shape.

“Excellent, excellent,” Eames praised. “Now focus on her breasts. They aren’t just two balloons stapled to her chest. They have weight and density all their own. They move as she moves. Now, feel the weight of them tug at the straps of your bra along your shoulders.”

Arthur frowned, struggling to focus. It was all too easy to dismiss female breasts as flimsy window dressing, but they had a purpose – beyond the obvious – and a function, and they were a weighted part of a woman’s body, moving along with her motions, the same as each lock of hair.

“Our Annabeth likes lacy underthings, doesn’t she?” Eames asked. Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. “Feel the sensitivity of your nipples. Luxuriate in the sensation of lace moving across them.”

Arthur did as Eames bade and this time, couldn’t suppress the shudder.

“Lovely, quite lovely. Now, remember, your waist is narrow but your hips flare. There’s a delicate swell behind you that is the delectable shape of your arse.”

As Arthur’s focus shifted downward, he could feel the heat of Eames’ body. He’d known Eames was close, but now he was aware of Eames’ chest pressed to his back, and the occasional press of his hips to Arthur’s ass. He had to ignore it. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not how it might feel to press himself backward into Eames’ heat.

“Your thighs are soft and rounded, now,” Eames now whispered hotly against Arthur’s neck. “What color trousers are you wearing? Of course, basic black.” Eames chuckled. “Your knees are delicate and your feet are smaller, narrower. Feel yourself rise up onto your toes and stay there. The arch of your foot is flexed, as are your calves. Now, picture those naughty, black leather boots with those dangerous stiletto heels.”

Arthur knew this would be the hardest part; maintaining the feel of standing and walking on his toes. The balls of his feet stung, his calves, his ass and his back all tensed, before relaxing down into the new posture.

Arthur sighed.

“Oh, you are a vision,” Eames murmured, running his hands up and down Arthur’s arms. “Open your eyes.”

Arthur complied slowly, afraid of what he was going to see, yet excited, too.

He realized immediately why his subconscious had zeroed in on Annabeth as a potential forgery subject. Arthur hadn’t had to alter his own height, with Annabeth wearing heeled boots. Their coloring was the same, as were their long and strong facial features. She was broad shouldered and round hipped, but otherwise relatively slim. He’d hardly had to alter his own chin at all.

It was Annabeth’s femininity that was so striking. Her wide, dark eyes, silky skin and delicate hands were alluring.

“Excellent first attempt.” Eames gave Arthur a little shake. “Really very impressive.”

Arthur drew breath to ask a question, then remember to modulate his voice.

“What’s next?” he asked. His own close approximation of the higher tones of the female voice was enough for the dream to take over. He looked like a woman. The dream let him sound like one.

“Try moving,” Eames suggested. “Remember her steps, how she carries her shoulders, the gentle sway of her hips on those dirty, dirty high heels.”

Tentatively, Arthur turned on his toes and took his first, wobbly step.

He’d never before realized how strong women were in their legs and feet, or how well they could balance on their toes.

Eames stood across the room, arms extended toward Arthur, as a parent would for a child learning to walk. “That’s it,” he cooed. “Let your lower spine shift, feel the sway of your hips. Relax your shoulders, let them sync with your hips.”

Arthur drew nearer to Eames and reached out, with a fine boned hand that wasn’t his own, to grasp Eames’ outstretched one.

“Why Arthur,” Eames murmured, pulling Arthur in against his own body. “With a little practice, you’ll be quite the sexy bird.”

Arthur chuckled self-consciously, turning in Eames’ arms - reluctantly - and starting, once again, to cross the room.

“You have a delightfully taut arse, Arthur,” Eames called to him across the room. “I much prefer your original chassis, but this version is quite aesthetically pleasing.”

Arthur reached up and tucked a strand of long hair behind his ear, hoping Eames wouldn’t notice the warm flush on his cheeks. “So, do I just walk around a hotel room all night? Or do you have a more methodical lesson plan?”

“Oh, how that biting wit arouses me. Let’s wander down to the hotel bar and let some of your projections hit on you a bit.”

Arthur started to reach for the handle to the door, but Eames stopped him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided. “You’re a lady, Arthur. Let the gentleman get the door for you.”

Arthur gave Eames a very un-ladylike gesture.

~*~

Arthur sighed heavily. “Why do I have to demonstrate this for Cobb, if you’ve already declared I’m a lost cause?”

“Arthur, darling, you’re not a lost cause,” Eames soothed, stepping closer. “You’ve mastered one, very good forgery. It could very well come in handy some day. Cobb should see it.”

“But why do I have to put my failure on display?”

“So he can see for himself just how poor it really is, and that we’re not exaggerating. It should encourage him to give up on the idea of you learning forgery, all together.”

“Fine,” Arthur groused. “I just hope he gets here sooner, rather than later.”

“Why don’t you get into costume, love?”

Arthur turned to face the paneled mirror. He took several deep, centering breaths, then began to layer on the forgery. He’d practiced so many times now, under Eames’ tutelage, and on his own, that it came easily.

Opening his eyes, Arthur saw Annabeth staring back at him.

“Exquisite, Arthur,” Eames breathed against his ear. “Now, show me just the barest hint of what’s underneath.”

Arthur gestured with his head toward the mirror panel on their left. When he and Eames turned to look, the third reflection in showed Eames pressed up against Arthur’s back, instead of Annabeth’s.

Arthur winked.

“Tart,” Eames growled, affection obvious in his face and his voice.

Arthur shoved aside an absurd jealousy of Annabeth. Eames had to have meant that for Arthur. He, of all people, knew Annabeth wasn’t real.

There was a knock at the door and Eames stepped away. Arthur felt cold in the absence of his body heat.

Cobb glanced around the spacious room as he entered. When he caught sight of Arthur, his brows lifted and his mouth hung open slightly. “Wow. Arthur, you’re gorgeous.”

Arthur inclined his head slightly. “Thank you.”

Cobb turned to Eames. “How can I be sure this isn’t one of your perverted projections?”

Eames laughed and nodded toward the mirror. Arthur stepped in front of it, Cobb and Eames at his back. Arthur turned to look at the right hand panel, Eames and Cobb turned with him. Four reflections back, Arthur looked back at them.

He lifted a hand to wave.

“Okay, good job, guys,” Cobb said, stepping away. “Are you sure he can’t forge anyone else?”

“This is the only one he mastered,” Eames replied. “We tried, young and old men, older women, teenagers, and he just could not make another passable forgery.”

As Eames spoke, Arthur attempted to take on the forms of the other forgeries he’d tried to learn. None of the forms looked at all believable, even in the suggestible state of the dream.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Cobb said. “I’ve seen enough. Care to administer a kick, Mr. Eames?”

Arthur settled back into his forgery of Annabeth.

“It would be my pleasure.” Eames pulled out a straight backed chair. Cobb sat down and leaned back on two legs.

Eames hooked a toe beneath the seat of the chair. “Relax. Wait for it.” He gave the chair a shove, sending Cobb tumbling backward.

Arthur blinked. When he looked again, Cobb was gone, and an empty chair lay overturned on the floor.

“Well,” Arthur sighed. “I think I’ll just lock this forgery away as just another failed experiment. I will say this; I have a newfound understanding and respect for what it is you do, Eames.”

“Arthur, your understanding and respect will now allow me to die a very contented man,” Eames’ condescension was feigned, as he slowly walked toward Arthur. His entire demeanor was _predatory_.

Arthur’s throat clenched as Eames stepped into his space, leaning forward until their lips almost touched.

“What are you doing?” Arthur tried to laugh but it sounded more like a choke.

“One final lesson, darling. You read the book I made you buy?”

“Yes,” Arthur whispered, his lids falling halfway closed. Some of those erotic stories had aroused Arthur, to the point he almost envied women their pussies.

“Now for a little practical application.”

“Is that necessary?” Arthur tensed, his eyes growing wide, pulse pounding in his own ears.

“As a Front Man, you know that there are times you must subvert your own needs and wants for the good of your team and the success of your mission.”

“But …”

“How do you know you won’t like it?” Eames’ thick hands came up to cradle Arthur’s skull.

Arthur had the span of a single breath to realize he was going to be kissed.

Eames’ lips were warm on Arthur’s. They were soft but firm. The swipe of Eames’ tongue along the seam of Arthur’s mouth was hot and wet. He opened readily, letting Eames in. He was slightly embarrassed by the low moan that escaped him, when Eames’ tongue found his own, rubbing wetly against it.

Eames tasted of coffee and alcohol, and fleetingly of mint. The scent of his cologne sent a flutter through Arthur’s belly. He’d have expected it to be cloying, or overly strong. Instead, it was warm and musky; a perfect complement to the scent of the man himself.

Arthur reached for Eames’ hips, his intent to pull them together and create the delicious friction he ached for. Then he remembered his forgery. At the last moment, he wrapped his arms around Eames’ broad chest and gripped his back and shoulders tightly. The press of their hips together felt different. It was deeper. Arthur was very aware of Eames’ growing hardness, but he himself needed more pressure than friction, and it felt odd. Good, but odd.

Eames pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet smack. “You’re a very apt pupil, Arthur. Very apt indeed.”

Arthur stared hard at Eames’ mouth as he spoke. He saw the words, more than heard them. The thunder of his pulse  in his own ears drowned out almost everything else. He leaned forward and captured Eames’ lips with his own.

He was vaguely aware of Eames unbuttoning the soft, plumb colored blouse he’d chosen for Annabeth. Arthur shivered at the feel of Eames’ rough knuckles along the soft skin of his belly. Cool air drifted over his heated skin as Eames peeled the blouse off his shoulders and down his arms. Gooseflesh rose and Arthur’s nipples tightened.

Eames’ tossed the fabric away and Arthur felt more naked than he truly was.

“Exquisite, Arthur,” Eames breathed, taking Arthur’s breasts in each of his hands. He squeezed them gently, lifting them within their black lace cups. “Really, very excellent work.”

Arthur watched in fascination as Eames’ hands kneaded and molded the flesh that was his, but wasn’t his. Of their own volition, Arthur’s hands came up to clutch at Eames’ biceps. He’d always known that’s how they’d feel, hard and sturdy beneath his fingertips.

Arthur sucked a harsh breath in through his clenched teeth. Without warning, Eames’ had shifted his hands and lightly pinched Arthur’s nipples. He’d always had sensitive nipples, but now, it felt as though they had a direct connection to his … pussy.

He was still wondering at that new sensation when Eames began to manhandle him. Arthur was roughly tugged and pushed toward the expansive bed that dominated the room. He felt it at the backs of his thighs, then Eames’ was spanning Arthur’s waist and lifting him up, only to let him tumble backward onto the bed.

Arthur gasped, ready for the kick. It never came. Instead, Eames’ surged up between Arthur’s open thighs, then lowered himself down, until they were kissing again.

Skimming his hands up Eames’ firm chest, he felt the defined muscles beneath his clothes and suddenly needed to touch skin. Arthur hastily unbuttoned Eames’ shirt, pushing the cloth apart and over his shoulders.

When he caught sight of the ink, Arthur stopped.

“I never knew about these,” he whispered, tracing his narrow fingertips over the colors and shapes embedded beneath Eames’ skin. Arthur noticed his own nails were slightly long and manicured and that surprised him, but not nearly as much as seeing Eames’ body art. “I suppose it makes sense.”

“Each one has a story, love,” Eames growled, ridding himself of his shirt and pressing his chest to Arthur’s.

When he felt Eames’ hands push beneath his back, Arthur arched upward. He felt the constraining bra loosen around his chest, just before the scraps of fabric were slid down his arms and discarded.

Eames’ mouth on his breast felt incendiary.  Arthur gasped and arched up off the bed. He buried his hands in Eames’ hair and tugged him closer. He wanted something. He needed more. Eames drove him mad as he pulled off. The ambient air chilled Arthur’s nipple, causing it tighten and harden further.

He released a sound from low in his throat, one he’d never heard himself make before, when Eames licked a broad stripe between Arthur’s breasts. When Eames shifted and wrapped his lips around Arthur’s other nipple, Arthur swallowed hard, breathing harshly through his nose.

Remembering his fingernails, Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames and dragged his fingertips down the broad lengths of muscle.

Eames threw back his head and growled. “You’re always so controlled and precise, Arthur,” Eames whispered against Arthur’s lips. “I always knew you’d be so hot and responsive like this.”

Arthur struggled to process Eames’ words, but he couldn’t think. He decided it didn’t matter when Eames began to place hot, open mouthed kisses over his belly.

The sound of frustration he made when Eames slid from between his legs and off the bed would embarrass Arthur later. Right now, he just tried to think of a way to entice Eames into covering him with that warm, firm body of his.

He was startled when Eames reached for the button of Arthur’s trousers. “What? … Eames …”

“You look marvelous,” Eames breathed as he unfastened Arthur’s trousers. His pupils were dilated and his chest and face were bright with his sex flush. “You feel so soft, and smell so divine. You’re going to taste absolutely _delicious_.”

Arthur lifted his hips for Eames to slide his trousers over his hips. Tossing aside the garment, Eames captured Arthur’s lifted ankle, admiring the soft leather of the knee-high boot.

“Oh, yes please, daddy,” he breathed before kissing Arthur’s instep. Eames released Arthur’s leg and slid his fingers beneath the elastic of the lace panties that still clung to Arthur’s hips.

For Arthur, Eames stripping him of that last scrap of fabric was excruciating. When it came away, he was completely bare. Part of him was glad he still wore the façade of a woman. Any imperfections Eames found could be attributed to a faulty forgery. If he were wearing his own appearance, any fault Eames found would be with _Arthur_.

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames enthused, dropping to his knees. “What a lovely, delicate flower.”

Arthur would have scoffed at Eames’ colorful language, but he was forestalled by Eames’ mouth on his … pussy. That thought was just so wrong, on so many levels. Yet, it was accurate. Eames’ lips and tongue were right on Arthur, and the feeling was nothing at all like having his dick sucked.

Arthur’s gasp was loud in the quiet room. His hands shot down to grip Eames’ hair tightly. In answer, Eames’ calloused hands firmly gripped Arthur’s inner thighs, pushing them up and open. Arthur felt vulnerable, and frighteningly aroused by that sensation.

And then there was that thing Eames was doing with his tongue. “ _Oh_ ,” Arthur moaned as Eames licked the length of his folds. He dragged his tongue all along the outside of Arthur’s opening, over and over again.

“You smell heavenly, Arthur,” Eames whispered, his breath hot against Arthur’s clit. “And you taste so sweet.”

Eames released Arthur’s thighs and now, used his thumbs to part the delicate folds. This time, the firm point of his tongue speared into his heat. Eames licked deep into him, lapping up the slick moisture that was there.

Without warning, Eames’ hot mouth descended on Arthur’s clit and sucked gently. He flicked his tongue over the nub and Arthur arched off the bed with a sharp cry. It was a sharper feeling than he’d ever felt before; more intense. Heat and bolts of sensation rocketed through his pelvis and jolted up his spine.

It felt good but … it was too much. Reflexively, Arthur’s hands fisted in Eames’ hair and he tugged hard.

“Gently,” he said, his voice breathy and pleading.

“Certainly, darling,” Eames said, low and rough. Again, he took Arthur’s clit into his mouth, but this time without suction. He circled his tongue around the hood, creating pressure and friction, but not too much.

Eames flicked the small nodule with his tongue, back and forth, rapidly.

Arthur sobbed. “Yeah, like that.” He sounded raw and torn to his own ears.

Briefly, fleetingly, Arthur wondered if there was something wrong with his forgery. Should he have had to correct Eames’ technique? Shouldn’t he have liked having a hot mouth on him, whatever it was doing?

Then, he remembered that book Eames had forced him to buy. No. No, each woman was an individual. Each had her own preferences for having her pussy licked. Arthur had apparently, just found his.

Eames upped the ante by sliding two fingers into Arthur’s wet heat. Arthur’s gasp was audible. He arched higher off the bed, pressing himself tighter against Eames’ rapidly flicking tongue. The stretch Eames created with his fingers was new and different, and entirely wonderful. His tongue was pooling heat in Arthur’s belly and radiating in luscious waves through his pelvis.

When Arthur’s thighs began to tremble, Eames redoubled his efforts. Arthur’s entire body bowed as electric shocks rocketed through his system. He squeezed his eyes shut and saw bright starbursts. His muscles all clenched and Arthur’s system felt as though it was going to overload.

He collapsed onto the soft duvet when Eames finally released him. Arthur sucked in great lungfuls of air as he lay trembling on the bed, wondering what the fuck Eames had just done to him.

Suddenly, Arthur’s body was covered by a scalding heat. Eames, completely naked, lay between Arthur’s thighs, hard cock pressed to soft, wet flesh. Eames’ mouth was hot on his, kissing him, wet and sloppy. He could taste himself on Eames’ lips, a sweet and musky tang. Arthur ran his palms up Eames’ firm chest, over his broad shoulders and down his muscled back.

“Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” Eames panted against Arthur’s mouth. “Hold me close.”

Arthur locked his booted legs around Eames’ waist. He clutched at Eames’ chest, burying his face in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply. He could smell Eames’ own masculine scent, his aftershave, the tang of his sweat, and the lingering aroma of Arthur’s own arousal.

He felt Eames’ reach between their bodies, then something wide, blunt and hard was pressing against Arthur’s pussy; pushing _into_ his body.

“Oh, god, Eames.” Arthur’s voice was rough and pleading. His fingers dug deeply into Eames’ straining biceps. He’d been with men before. Arthur had been filled before. But this was wholly different. It was as if there were a million more nerve endings firing, and a thousand more muscles clenching.

“Yes, gorgeous, that’s it,” Eames breathed harshly, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s temple. “Just relax and let me in.”

Eames pressed inward, halfway inside of Arthur, before he withdrew and pushed in again. Arthur moaned at the sensations spiking through his system. When Eames slid in all the way, his hips slapping firmly against the backs of Arthur’s thighs, it stole Arthur’s breath.

And then Eames moved in earnest. He propped himself on his elbows, buried his fingers in Arthur’s long hair, pressed their chests together, and flexed his hips. The slick glide of his hard cock inside of Arthur’s pussy sounded lewd, but felt fantastic. Arthur buried his fingertips in Eames’ shoulders and clung to him shamelessly.

“Arthur, you are so tight and wet around my cock,” Eames groaned, his words broken by the hard thrusts of his own hips.

Arthur found himself captured in Eames’ smoldering gaze. Feverish blue-gray eyes bore into his, daring him to look away. He couldn’t look away. Eames watched Arthur closely, even as he fucked him, fast and hard.

“Do you like it like this?” Eames asked, desperation tingeing his voice. “Does it feel good?”

Arthur was confused in the face of a seemly desperate Eames. His eyes, his expression, his voice didn’t belong to a man who was in this for a perverted one-off, or a simple teaching exercise. “Yeah … it’s good … don’t stop.” Arthur was shocked by the sound of his own desperation.

Eames pounded into Arthur’s unresisting body. He sent shockwaves rolling through Arthur’s spine and his thighs trembled with exertion and desire. Still it wasn’t enough. He wove his arms around Eames’ waist, slid his hands over sweat slicked skin, and gripped Eames’ flexing ass in a tight grip.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Eames cried, sounding almost like a sob. He buried his face in Arthur’s neck, breath fast and hot. “I’m going to fucking come.”

With one, final, stuttering flex of his hips, Eames buried himself inside of Arthur’s pussy, and then he stilled. His harsh breathing gave way to low grunts and moans as Eames came. Arthur could feel his cock pulse and twitch. Violent shudders rocked his body, and his hands fisted painfully in Arthur’s hair.

Eames’ body relaxed incrementally, pressing Arthur further and further into the bed. He should be too heavy, but he wasn’t. Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames’ broad back and stroked his fingers up and down sweaty skin.

Faint strains of music suddenly drifted through the room, surrounding them. Arthur knew they only had a few minutes left.

Eames shifted, turning his face into Arthur’s neck, kissing him softly. He ran his lips along Arthur’s throat, along his jaw, and finally, captured his mouth in a long, languorous kiss.

“Time’s almost up,” Eames whispered against Arthur’s lips. “Just remember, when you awaken, you’ll look like a man again. It’ll seem strange at first. That’s normal.”

Arthur nodded his understanding.

“See you on the other side,” Eames said.

~*~

Arthur woke slowly, gently. He knew Eames was on the lounge to his right. He didn’t look that direction. Instead, Arthur withdrew the needle from his wrist, and began to coil the tubing.

“You stayed the whole ten minutes,” Cobb said, from across the room. “I expected you two to either devise a kick or kill each other.”

“Just helping Arthur with some final details,” Eames replied easily. “He may not have a career as a forger, but having a single quality forge in his repertoire may save someone’s life, one day.”

Cobb made a thoughtful sound that sounded like understanding and agreement. “Good night, you two,” he said, before letting the door shut behind him.

Arthur was packing up the PASIV when suddenly, Eames’ heat was pressed up against his back. He froze.

“Before you over think what happened, Arthur.” Eames’ voice was low and gravelly. His breath ghosted hot, over the shell of Arthur’s ear. “You should remember that, at no time, did I call you by any name other than your own. I knew just who I was fucking, every single moment we were together. I’m fully aware of your real gender, Arthur. I knew then, and I know now, _who you are_.”

Arthur swallowed against the lump in his throat. His back grew cold when Eames stepped away.

“You know where I’m staying Arthur. I do hope to see you later, love.”

Arthur didn’t breathe again until the door closed behind Eames. With fumbling fingers, he packed up the PASIV as quickly as he could, barely remembering to shut out the lights, in his haste to leave for the night.  

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd. All errors are my own. I have never in my life written genderswap, and it's not really my thing (which doesn't mean there's anything at all wrong with it). However, when you have a character who genderswaps canonically, what can you do?


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